


anchors

by dansunedisco



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Your people,” Octavia asks, “do they have parties? Dances?” She’s sprawled on the ground, propped up on her elbows, a curious smile on her pretty face. Waiting for Lincoln to indulge her, because he always does.<i></i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Lincoln, Octavia, and a quiet moment in-between.</i>
  </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	anchors

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on tumblr](http://dansunedisco.tumblr.com/post/104732893668/lincoln-octavia-taking-time-to-dance) for the Linctavia prompt _taking time to dance_.

“Your people,” Octavia asks, “do they have parties? Dances?” She’s sprawled on the ground, propped up on her elbows, a curious smile on her pretty face. Waiting for Lincoln to indulge her, because he always does.

Sweat is still cooling on his skin from their earlier spar. Octavia’s been putting him through his paces; has been for days now, if he’s being honest. He’s skilled and experienced, but she’s fast, smaller, light on her feet, dancing around him tirelessly with a blade and a grin and pale eyes he can’t get enough of. It hasn’t been long at all, but she’s trapped his heart like a bird in a cage and he’s not sure what he  _wouldn’t_ do for her now.

Like entertain her questions about his people and their customs, when years of training point to remaining silent. Answers to innocent questions can turn sour, he knows, but the bright curiosity in Octavia’s eyes is difficult to spin in sinister ways. “On occasion,” he says. “It’s not all spear throwing with us.” 

She drops her head back with a groan and, when she brings it back up, it’s to pin him with an impatient glare. “That’s not how I meant it, and you know it,” she says, then easily rolls up onto her feet in a move he’d taught her.

She hops over to his perch on a fallen tree, glare gone and replaced with a smirk he’s beginning to recognize as mischievous. “I bet you can’t dance,” she goads, crowding into his space. “I bet you have two left feet. That’s why they sent you out here, right? Because you stepped on everyone’s toes and they’d had enough.”

He loops his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer. It was true that some warriors didn’t have a penchant for dance, but fighting required skill in moving with rhythm just the same; Lincoln was never turned away at the fires. “Maybe you’re right,” he answers, because he suspects this is what Octavia wants to hear. “Maybe you can teach me.” 

“Maybe,” she says after a moment, like his response wasn’t the one she was looking for. “I got to dance, once.”

She shifts in his arms, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “It was—fun,” she admits, “but so  _not_ worth it.”

She’s told him a little of her time on the Ark; each meeting giving him bits and pieces of her past until they slotted together to explain her innate appreciation of the world, her fearless nature. 

He tightens his hold on her and stands, quickly swinging her around off her feet just to hear her gasp and laugh. “Then we’ll dance now,” he tells her, hands sliding up to her shoulder blades. They feel like they belong. 

“We don’t have music,” she says, glancing around their clearing like he’s been hiding instruments from her this entire time.

“No,” he agrees, smiling easily now, “but you shouldn’t let that stop you.”

So they dance to the wind in the trees, the songbirds chirping above, and the sunlight streaming down onto the loam under their feet.


End file.
